The wind howled through the trees and whipped her long black hair.
Heart clenched in grief, tears streaming down her crumpled face, legs trembling beneath her gown, Úlvhild watched Haldor ride off war, the cold wind carrying him away.
Chapter 46
Wolfsong
Elfi stood in the moonlight atopla Tour d’Écume, the Foam Tower named for the frothy spray that splattered the pale limestone walls with thunderous waves fromla Porte d’Aval—Aegir’s Gate, as the Norse called it—the portal to the underwater realm of the sea, whose relentless surge crashed against the craggy cliff below the tower where she would soon give birth.
It had been nine days since Njörd sailed west on the Narrow Sea to the mouth of the Seine. The sea battle had not yet begun—she sensed it in her mermaid heart—yet she knew the Frankish ships, bolstered by Rus raiders andDökkálfarallies, would soon attack the nine ships defending the sea entrance to Paris.
She couldn’t sleep, so she had come up here, to watch the moonlight dance on the rolling waves and breathe the cleansing scent of the sea.
And pray for her beloved white wolf.
Elfi touched the glittering gems at the base of her throat. The necklace Njörd had given her as a bridal gift had once belonged to Rán. As her fingertips caressed the turquoise, emerald, and lapis lazuli stones which glimmered in the moonlight, she whispered a fervent prayer to her sea goddess grandmother.
“Amma, hear my call. Bless my husband Njörd—Wolf of the Nordic Seas—and the crews of his nine ships. Shield them in battle. Bring them safely home. And bless my child, soon to be born. Grant me the strength of the sea, that I might endure, as I bring Njörd’s daughter into this world.”
Behind her, the heavy wooden door leading onto the observation deck creaked open. The armored guards lowered their swordsat the sight of Úlvhild—thevölvawho shared Elfi’s private chambers on the floor below, where she would also give birth.
On the third floor of the five-level tower, Ylva and Vivi slept soundly in their shared room, while Vilde, Sif, and Oda occupied the second level above the ground floor, which housed both servants and guards.
As the gusty wind whipped Elfi’s long hair and her intermittent pains continued, Úlvhild approached with a steaming cup and a reassuring smile.
“Chamomiletisane,” she murmured, offering the ceramic mug. “To calm you and help you sleep.”
Elfi inhaled the sweet, floral scent and sipped the warm brew, grateful for Úlvhild’s nurturing care, yet remorseful for having disturbed her rest. “Thank you, Úlvhild,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I woke you. I couldn’t sleep. I’m so uncomfortable... my back aches, the pains come and go, and I feel like a beached whale. I cannot wait to have this child.”
“You will very soon. Your labor has just begun. With a first child, it takes longer for your body to prepare.” She placed a comforting hand on Elfi’s shoulder. “Come, let’s go back inside. You should rest while you can. Your time is near.”
Elfi let Úlvhild guide her back inside, down the small stone stairwell which led from the open deck atop the tower to the private chamber they shared. The vast room had windows on all walls, giving magnificent views of the moonlit sea. The banked embers glowing in the hearth near the entry warmed her chilled bones. She sank down onto her bed of soft furs and sipped the fragrant herbal brew.
When she’d finished, Úlvhild tucked her in bed like a small child and bent to kiss her cheek. “Sleep now. It will soon be morning. Perhaps tomorrow your daughter will be born.
White gannets soared in the cloudless sky as golden sunlight streamed into the chamber. Waves crashed against the white cliffs below the tower, sending salt spray and sea foam high into the air. Wind whistled through the partially opened windows,carrying the briny tang of the sea as Elfi sat up slowly and stretched her limbs.
From the lower level ofla Tour d’Écume,the scent of barley porridge and lingonberries made Elfi rush to the chamber pot and hurl the contents of her empty stomach into the ceramic bowl. When she rose shakily to her feet, her lower belly cramped in a tight vise of excruciating pain. Bracing herself against the wall with both hands, she leaned into the agony like a wave crashing over her, and sagged with relief when it finally subsided.
Úlvhild had been right. Her daughter would be born today.
Ylva appeared at the door, with Vivi close behind. She smiled at Elfi. “Would you like to come down fordagmál, or should I have a tray brought up?”
“Neither,” Elfi whimpered as an overwhelming pain buckled her legs beneath her.
Ylva’s eyes widened as recognition dawned. She turned to Vivi. “Tell Úlvhild that her pains are stronger. Have Vilde and Sif prepare herbal tonics of yarrow, chamomile, and raspberry leaf, to help open her womb and ease the birth. And bring nine gems, for the sacred chant to invoke Frigg. Three each of moonstones, lapis lazuli, and clear quartz.”
“Oui, Maman.”Vivi nodded and dashed from the room.
Ylva stoked the hearth and added firewood, tossing crushed herbs into the fire. “A trio of herbs for protection,” she whispered to Elfi. “Juniper, for purification. Thyme, to strengthen your courage. And mugwort,forsafe passage of your child as she emerges from your womb.”
As another wracking pain tore Elfi apart, like the waves slamming against the white chalk cliffs below, Úlvhild slipped into the sunlit room. Her velvety voice was calming and soothing. “Float in the waves… let the pain wash over you. Each one brings your daughter closer to being born.”
Oda, Vilde, and Sif quietly entered the room. Vilde—the wetnurse who had nourished and nurtured Elfi like amother—placed a cool cloth on her damp, sweaty brow.
Oda kissed her cheek and brushed strands of hair from Elfi’s flushed face. “Drink,” she urged, handing Elfi an herbal tisane. “Úlvhild said it will help open your womb and renew your strength.”
Sif attempted a reassuring smile.
